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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24862006">Another Day, Another Dollar</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightandahalf/pseuds/midnightandahalf'>midnightandahalf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stephanie Plum - Janet Evanovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:34:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,406</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24862006</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightandahalf/pseuds/midnightandahalf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever wonder how Carlos Manoso manages to run a successful business on the side of his full-time job being Rescue Ranger? Answer: One day at a time, babe. It’s not easy, but someone’s gotta do it. Oneshot, COMPLETE.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ricardo Carlos Manoso/Stephanie Plum</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Another Day, Another Dollar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <strong>Another Day, Another Dollar</strong>
  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>whir</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the A/C unit was the only sound in the apartment. I opened my eyes and didn’t have to glance at the phone to know that it was 4:58 in the morning. These next two minutes before the alarm went off were all mine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No clients to appease. No new deals to close. No employee relations issues to settle or spreadsheets to study, and no disaster-du-jour. These two minutes were a luxury.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sure, they were nothing fancy. Two minutes was no substitute for a day off, which I probably needed, or for an actual vacation, which would probably never happen. But still, I treasured these two minutes. Because they were all -</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>… Mine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, and tied on my running shoes. I hit the pavement for a quick four miles and slipped my earbuds in halfway through to answer McKayla’s morning call.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s on deck?” I asked in lieu of a greeting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Ranger,” she replied smoothly. “You start at 6am today with a debrief from Santos. It seems the night shift had some excitement; two break-ins, no losses. At 7, you have your regular one-on-one with Tank. You’re meeting at 9:30 with a prospective developer for the new space in New York.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where?” I cut in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s coming to you. You’re booked for an hour and a half in the Cayambe conference room. At 11, you have a little bit of time to go remind Victor Cabrelli of his overdue court appearance.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How little?” I asked warily. I was a bitch to deal with if she didn’t make time in my schedule for me to go fetch an FTA or at least patrol a client property, but even so, my opportunities were becoming fewer and farther between.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“At noon, you’re meeting with Mr. Denison, owner of a chain of high-end Wyndham hotels throughout the tri-state area. He’s interested in surveillance and security for his businesses and residences.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I graciously chose to tamp down my annoyance at the understanding that my time away from the bullshit of the office would only be one hour today. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I want Tank to join me for that,” I told her instead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.” I heard her fingers fly over her keyboard for a moment. “After Mr. Denison, you’ll come back to Rangeman for an internal presentation of a new facial recognition feature the software team is dying to show you. At 2:30 and 3:30, you have interviews with the two finalist candidates for the Senior Analyst role, and then at 4:30 you have a video call with another new potential client.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll need to keep that brief, because you have a conference call with Legal at 5,” she continued. “Then at 6, you can debrief with the day shift if you want, but you have dinner reservations at 6:45 at Gillespie’s with Mr. Stanton.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What I wanted to say was, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did you leave me thirty seconds to take a piss at some point today? Or, God forbid, five minutes to eat lunch?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But what I actually said was, “Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I let myself back into my apartment, but another phone call intercepted me on my way to the shower. I winced at the sight of the caller ID, but answered anyway and let my accountant chew me out for a good ten minutes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not just bleeding money,” Mike told me, and not for the first time. “You’re hemorrhaging it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re profitable.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, but you won’t be for long if you keep this up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve always managed to scrape by.” That was an understatement. Mike and I both knew that Rangeman made more than enough on its own. Not to mention the cash that we’d dumped years ago into real estate investments that were making money all on their own.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you could only </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> how much waste there is in your balance sheet, you would understand.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I expected honesty from all my employees, yes, and Mike didn’t view himself as an exception. At least once a month, we had a phone call just like this one. I valiantly kept a lid on my frustration, even knowing that this conversation was cutting my twenty-minute shower time down to ten, which meant there would be no time for any kind of tension relief.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You really need to sit down with me and let me show you the books,” Mike continued.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I bit back a sigh and glanced at my watch. Time to appease him and move on. “Fine. Talk to McKayla. Tell her not to touch anything in the calendar for the next two weeks, but after that, she can find you a slot.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After my less-than-satisfactory shower, I grabbed the protein shake that awaited me in the fridge and took the elevator down to the command center. I leaned against the wall in the conference room and pounded my shake while the night shift went over the two calls they’d taken overnight. One of the customers was pissed, they told me. Seems she expected that a Rangeman security system would be an automatic deterrent in and of itself, and she was put out at having to deal with the break-in. No one was home at the time, there was no property damage, and all stolen items were recovered unharmed. But she still wanted a meeting to ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>discuss how this mistake had occurred, and ensure it never happens again’.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My gaze narrowed in on Les, who was in the middle of an eyeroll.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lester,” I called. “That meeting is yours. Congratulations.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The meeting was effectively adjourned, so I left the jeers of the rest of the team behind me. I was accosted by McKayla right outside the door of the conference room. She wordlessly shoved an iPad at me, and I scrolled through a couple of docs that needed my eSignature. She stayed in-step with me on my way to Tank’s office and took the iPad back before I knocked quickly and let myself inside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning,” I greeted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tank spared me a nod while I sank into the chair across from his desk and watched while he finished typing up a report. The man typed like a t-rex or something - he only used two fingers, and it was as if his elbows were glued to his side while his hands bobbed up and down and across the keyboard.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I couldn’t resist giving him a hard time. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full here. Should I come back later?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Gimme a minute.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My time is money, you know,” I joked. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check some emails. “There are a dozen other, productive things I could be doing right now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I said, gimme a goddamn minute. We both know you’re just going to use this time to shovel more of your shit onto my plate, anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I grinned. “Regretting that promotion already?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tank’s reply was cut off when my phone started buzzing in my hand. Steph’s face lit up the screen, and I turned it around so Tank could see.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His lips twitched. “Saved by the bell.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I slipped out of Tank’s office while I answered. “Aren’t you up a little early?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m turning over a new leaf,” she told me. “It’s going to be such a productive day. I’ve got a short stack of FTAs, and by the time this day is through, I’ll be $10k richer and the city of Trenton will be able to rest a little easier, knowing these good-for-nothings are facing the consequences of their decisions.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh-huh.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“On an unrelated note…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where do you suppose one would go, if one needed to procure a set of handcuffs before 8am?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Depends. Does one have a car today?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I have a car,” she huffed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I waited.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just a little… out of commission at the moment.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I waited for another few beats before I got her reluctant answer. “The Delaware River.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An icy feeling gripped my stomach, and I breathed through it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s fine,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I reminded myself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s right here. </span>
  </em>
  <span>After a couple more breaths, though, I decided I had to know. “Were you in it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. It’s okay, though. It’s not, like, all the way in. I barely got wet. We just went off the road and down the embankment right before the Calhoun Street Bridge.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lula was with me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course, she was.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I’ll have it towed to the garage. Check to see if it’s salvageable.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You really don’t have to -”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’ll send Les and Manuel to your place with a car and your cuffs.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Another pause, and then, “I’m at Morelli’s.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course, she was. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Got it. They’ll be there in twenty.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I slipped the phone back in my pocket and headed back out to the floor, hoping to catch Les before he clocked out. Steph’s apartment was on his way home, but Morelli’s place was in the opposite direction. I’ll owe him overtime.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>**** </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A little over five hours later, I stepped into an elevator, Tank right behind me. My one-on-one with him earlier had gotten bumped off the schedule by other pressing needs, so we’d used the drive over here to discuss the sales meeting we were about to walk into.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’ll want the premium package,” I told Tank. “I want you to outline what that means for him. Top-of-the-line systems for each property, with twenty-four-seven off-site monitoring, and a full-time on-premise patrol during business hours.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How many properties?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eight total. Six hotels, two residences.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tank gave a low whistle. “What’s the size of this deal?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To be honest, I hadn’t even bothered to run the numbers, knowing that Mr. Dension wasn’t going to want to get into that during today’s meeting. As long as we sold him on the benefits, then he’d send us to his CFO to talk numbers. I did some quick math in my head for Tank as the elevator doors opened. “Two and a half, annually.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Assuming he chose to sign with us, that would put Mr. Denison among Rangeman’s top ten clients. The receptionist for the floor told us we could take a seat, though we both busied ourselves with studying what we could see of the small lobby area. This property, after all, would likely be one that Mr. Denison would want included in the security package.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Within minutes, the receptionist announced that Mr. Denison was ready for us, and escorted us back to his office, one of only a handful on this floor. We were in the middle of the introductions when I felt my cell vibrating from my pocket, and I glanced at the caller ID on my watch to see who it was. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, Mr. Denison. Excuse me a moment.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tank shot me a you’d-better-be-kidding-me look while I took my leave of the room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I stepped back out into the hall, keeping my voice low. “What happened?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After hearing news of Stephanie’s plans for a ‘productive day’, I’d assigned Manuel to tail her after he got done dropping off her new car with Les. He wouldn’t be calling if all was going smoothly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She disappeared,” Manuel reported. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t know what to tell you. She was traipsing across this abandoned lot, running after one of her FTAs, and then suddenly… she wasn’t. She fucking disappeared.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I heard feet hitting the ground and he was starting to breathe heavily, and I assumed he was hauling ass to investigate the situation. He sounded a little worried, but not nearly as worried as he would be in sixty seconds if he didn’t have some answers for me.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did she have a tracker on her?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There was one on the car keys. Should still be with her, unless…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, yeah.</span>
  </em>
  <span> There were limitless potential scenarios in which Steph could have found herself no longer in possession of those keys. I swear, one of these days I’m going to implant a damn tracker in her arm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold on,” Manuel continued. “It looks like -”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Manuel cut himself off, and the pace of his feet on the pavement picked up. Another few seconds of his heavy breathing, and then some scuffling. I gave him the space of a few more hearbeats after that before I grew impatient. “Talk to me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I heard a thump, and then more scuffling. I was already in front of the elevator and watching it move up to my floor. I eyed the door to the stairs while I waited for a reply. I heard his voice, sounding muffled and distant. Finally, Manuel came back on the line.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, boss. Dropped the phone. She’s fine. Looks like she fell in a hole.” I could hear the amusement in his voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A hole?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He cleared his throat, sobering. “Yeah. Looks like it’s an abandoned well.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A well? Steph fell down an actual fucking well?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Injuries?” I demanded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She says she’s fine. She’s.. wet. It’s pretty slimy and muddy down there. But for the most part, looks pretty unharmed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you get her out? Do you have an evac kit in your vehicle?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Negative.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The elevator dinged its arrival, and I allowed myself a sigh. “I’m on my way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll stick around and hold down the fort until you get here,” Manuel told me.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I could very faintly hear the sounds of female protestation on Manuel’s end of the line, and that had me grinning. “Good luck.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I used my elevator ride to send a quick text to Tank, letting him know I wouldn’t be back. He replied with a middle finger emoji.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That was pretty fair. I’d sprung this on him. But Tank had an eye for engineering an airtight security protocol, and I wanted him to get more involved in the sales side of the business. I had a feeling he’d do particularly well with some of the seedier clientele, but you couldn’t have one and not the other - he had to be able to handle the Mr. Denisons, too. I hadn’t intended to leave him alone in there, though, and I was fully prepared for it to cost us.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>By the time I got back to the Cayenne, dispatch had already replied to my request and sent me the location details for the GPS in Manuel’s vehicle. They were about a twenty minute drive away, but I could shave it down to fifteen if I played a little fast and loose with traffic laws.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On the way, I called McKayla to tell her that I was probably going to be late to the software team’s meeting. I also took a call from the garage where I’d had Steph’s car towed. Turned out, it was totaled. Not surprising. I hit redial for McKayla, and had her order two more vehicles. Then I realized that I needed to make another call, and it wasn’t going to be a pleasant one.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I’d hoped to maybe get away with leaving a voicemail, but unfortunately, he answered on the third ring.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mike, it’s Manoso. I need you to increase my Entertainment budget by $25k for the next four months.” Then I hung up, not bothering to wait for a reply.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Entertainment budget was one of Mike’s chief complaints. He didn’t understand what it was really for, of course - I imagine that he assumed we were handing out Knicks tickets after every shift and subsidizing every employee’s two-week vacation. He’d never know that it covered the cost of keeping an extra employee on shift at all times, so someone would always be available to respond if Steph called or if one of her trackers showed up someplace it shouldn’t. Or worse, went offline. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I doubt Steph knows or would appreciate that any call from her is automatically forwarded to the Command center if I don’t answer on my cell. But since there’s at least a twenty percent chance that any given call could be a matter of life and death, I live in fear of one day missing the wrong call. I’d developed an unhealthy attachment to the damn cell phone. I’d had a waterproof Bluetooth speaker installed so I wouldn’t have to worry about missing her call while I showered. So having them forwarded just gave me some peace of mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tank was probably one of the only people who knew what our little on-call protection detail really cost the company. Still, I couldn’t afford to lose Mike. As much shit as he gave me, he was very competent, and he didn’t ask questions. I paid him more than twice what he would earn anywhere else so that he would take calls like the one I’d just dropped on him and not up and quit on me, or spit in my face. And every once in awhile, he got to sit me down in a conference room and vent at me. I might make some small compromise, like letting him buy a new building somewhere to bring in more rental income, and then we’d be fine again for another couple of months.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I pulled to a stop and parked on the street behind Manuel. He met me at the driver’s door of his vehicle. He looked like he’d spent the last twenty minutes pondering how much trouble he’s in for letting his mark disappear into a hole in the ground.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Good</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened?” I asked meaningfully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was trying to stay back, to be unobtrusive,” he started. “She had Ronny Mellark in custody, and I was just trailing her to the courthouse. Only, then she stopped here and let him out of the car. It looked like he was sick, maybe. I’m not sure. All I know is, before I knew it, he’d taken off running and she ran right after him. She didn’t make it ten yards before she disappeared.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I followed his pointing finger across the street to an abandoned lot that backed up to a greenbelt, and on the other side of that, a neighborhood.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s Ronny Mellark now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He pointed with his chin at his backseat, which I couldn’t see into because of the heavy tint. “I’ve got him back there. I went after him once I verified that Stephanie was okay and when I got off the phone with you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nodded. “Good work.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked surprised and relieved. “Want me to stick around and help pull her out?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got it. Go turn Ronny in for Steph. Get the paperwork from Connie.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You got it.” He started to climb back into his vehicle, but paused with the door open. “Sorry, boss. At least I think her pride is the only thing that’s hurting.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit happens to the best of us.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t I know it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Manuel took off and I made my way over to the hole. “Okay down there?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger? Is that you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Careful to stay far enough back from the edge, I leaned over. Relief and embarrassment warred on her face. Once I’d confirmed that she was in one piece and would stay that way, it took some effort not to laugh.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What I wanted to say was</span>
  <em>
    <span>, How the hell did you manage to find a fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>well</span>
  <em>
    <span> to fall down in the middle of Jersey?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” was all I actually said, punctuated by a shake of my head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I know.” Her arms were crossed over her chest, which was a damn shame, since that chest was otherwise only covered by a thin t-shirt that was soaked through. “But let me tell you, this was not my fault.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It never is.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It was a freak accident. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No one</span>
  </em>
  <span> could have seen this coming.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you hang tight while I go get some rope?” I didn’t give her much of a choice or a chance to answer before I started to retreat to the SUV.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about me!” she called. “I’ll be right here! Not going anywhere!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The distance had looked to be at least twenty feet down. I popped open the cargo door of the vehicle, shifted my go-bag out of the way, and lifted the floorboards to reveal my evac tools. I selected a fifty-foot length of rope, then grabbed a couple of climbing harnesses and a handful of carabiners. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I took more time to catalogue the surroundings on my way back to the well, and picked a decrepit powerline pole about five yards away as an anchor point. When that was set, I attached the rope to the harness so she wouldn’t have to worry about the knot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I made my way back to the well and looked down at Steph. Leaning a shoulder against one side, her arms still crossed over her chest, she was the picture of reluctant patience.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You ready?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stuck her chin out. “Nah. I think I’m good down here. Thanks anyway. Sorry for bothering you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Catch.” I made sure she was paying attention before I tossed the climbing harness down to her, making sure I had control of my end of the rope so it wouldn’t end up in the dirty, shallow puddle at the bottom.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She fumbled the catch, and it landed on her face instead. She yanked it off, and even in the dim light at the bottom, I could see her glare up at me.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry.” I turned away to hide my grin, pretending to adjust the rope.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What the heck do I do with this contraption?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The biggest loop goes around your waist. The rope goes in front. Find the two smaller loops and step into them like you’re putting on pants,” I instructed. She struggled for a moment, turning the harness this way and that, but then got it straightened and pulled it up to her hips. “Good. Now find the buckle and tighten it around your waist. Yeah, like that. Make it tight. Do the same with each leg loop.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, and now that I’m all trussed up like a turkey?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Grab the rope, and step up to the edge of the well. Now you’re going to keep holding the rope, use it to balance against, and lean back. Like you’re in your father’s recliner chair. And then walk your feet up the side.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She tried, and from what I could see, she actually had pretty good form. But the sides were made of stone, and they were slick with mud and mildew, so she kept slipping.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Great. Just great,” she muttered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, nevermind. Forget that. Just put both your hands on the knot in your rope, and hold on.” I moved back to where I’d anchored the rope and straddled the powerline pole with my legs to brace myself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How is this going to hel- </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steph shrieked at my first hard yank of the rope. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Watch your head!” I called. I reached with my other hand and pulled more rope toward me. “Try to keep your feet against the side.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hand-over-hand, I kept pulling slowly, trying to make it as smooth a ride as possible. I didn’t want her to get too scraped or banged up. Finally, I saw her arms reach up to the edge of the hole, and with my next pull, I could see her. She helped pull herself onto solid ground, and when I was sure she wasn’t going to slide back in, I dropped the rope and moved to help her up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was breathing a little heavier than normal, and her eyes were wide. “That was a first.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s make it a last, too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Deal,” she agreed. I’d pulled her to her feet, and she tried to wipe her muddy hands on her jeans, but found them just as muddy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I sent her to the vehicle while I gathered up the rope and harnesses and hauled them back to the Cayenne, but when I got there, I found her hovering at the passenger door. “What are you doing?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to get your seats all muddy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I tossed the bundle in my arms into the cargo area to deal with later. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d offer to hose you down, but…” I spread my arms, indicating the quiet street and empty lots around us.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have something I could sit on?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I found a windbreaker in my go bag and handed it over, and she gingerly climbed up into the passenger seat. I turned the engine, and watched her shiver and close the air vents.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, we really need to find you some dry clothes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded in agreement. “Shower first, though. Pretty sure I’ve got mud in places best left unmentioned.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shower first,” I agreed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Want to help?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I took a moment to look her up and down before I turned my attention back to the road. It was an appealing offer, but… “Thought you were at Morelli’s last night.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was, but only because I was watching Bob. Morelli’s out of town.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Got it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, with that in mind… what do you say?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With that in mind, what I wanted to say was, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hell yeah.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So I did.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>By 11:30pm, I was nearly finished responding to all of the emails that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. McKayla had managed to reschedule my interviews for later this week. I’d called Sergio, my head of Software Development, to promise him some time tomorrow to review the new feature he was excited about. I didn’t bother looking at my calendar to figure out where that time would come from - that was McKayla’s job, not mine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I’d completely blown off Legal, which I’d pay for later, and Tank had sent me a text this afternoon saying that Mr. Denison was appalled that I’d bailed on the meeting and would be taking his business elsewhere. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah. Sounds about right.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I stretched, then pushed back from the desk. So, I’d blown off two new clients today, pissed off my Legal team, and generally made McKayla’s life a living hell. What else was new? I’d also managed to bring in an FTA and keep Steph safe for another day. That meant that today went in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Win</span>
  </em>
  <span> column as far as I was concerned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I quietly pushed the bedroom door open and stood in the doorway. Steph was sprawled across the bed, laying on her stomach on the left side with her right arm reaching out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Still a pretty damn good day.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
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